


You Wouldn't Cook Without a Cookbook

by Saras_Girl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saras_Girl/pseuds/Saras_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry find out what happens when they follow instructions to the letter. AU, crack, parody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wouldn't Cook Without a Cookbook

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Where to start? Parody, cliché, terrible writing, cringeworthy dialogue, references to various kinks, crackity-crack-crack.
> 
> AN – this is a sort-of parody of identikit sex scenes but mostly just what happens when I read too much bad slash porn [thank you, weepingcock] on the same day as a visit from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The title is a reference to 'The Good Book' by Tim Minchin, because there are only so many times a person can type ‘The Book’ without getting it stuck in their head.
> 
> This ridiculous story contains as many slash sex clichés as I could squeeze in [oo-er] and is very likely to induce cringing and awkwardness. Thanks to groolover for listening and giggling.
> 
> For my American Floozy – let’s go muddin’ sometime :D

_Welcome to **Gay Sex and How to Have It**. If you are reading this, you are a young homosexual wizard who has just begun to consider the possibilities of loving your fellow man. If you receive this book after reading our sister publication **Gay, Bi or just Straight-Fabulous?** congratulations on reaching this next step in your journey to finding yourself. In this manual, you will find all of the rules, procedures and conventions that you need to achieve perfect gay sex, every time. With our advice, you can never go wrong!  
  
\-- **Gay Sex and How to Have It**_  
  
Draco receives The Book on his sixteenth birthday. It’s just there when he wakes up, sitting on his bedside table. For a while, he tries to find out who has sent him such a thing and why—well, not so much why, he supposes—but it soon becomes apparent that he’s getting nowhere. In the end, he decides to accept the fact the blasted thing just _appeared_ there of its own free will. He also decides to read it. And then re-read it.   
  
By the time his seventeenth birthday rolls around, he has practically memorised the text, and by the time he is halfway into the first term of his last year at Hogwarts, he has discovered that he is not the only student in possession of The Book. Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw has one too; Draco saw it when he dropped his things in the corridor one time. Blaise, of all people, has the other book, the one mentioned in the introduction, and Harry Potter... well, Harry Potter has both of them. Draco knows this because Harry is not very good at hiding things, and when Draco had walked down to the lake one Sunday afternoon and decided to strike up a conversation with him, Harry had turned bright red and nearly thrown himself on top of the books to conceal them, but he hadn’t been nearly quick enough for Draco.  
  
Astonished and delighted, Draco had poured all of his efforts into charming Harry, into hovering on the right side of Granger and Weasley, and most of all, into living, breathing and becoming The Book. Within a few weeks, he had formed a tentative friendship with Harry, and by the start of the spring term, it had become obvious to both of them that their feelings for one another were becoming heated and complicated.   
  
Thanks to The Book, Draco had known exactly what to do, and that is how he finds himself pressed against the cold stone wall of an empty classroom at ten past midnight on a Thursday morning with Harry’s mouth on his and Harry’s hardness against his hip and Harry’s hands _everywhere_.  
  
Breathless, they pull apart and stare at each other in the near darkness. There is only one question on Draco’s mind and Harry’s sparkling green eyes seem to reflect the unspoken inquiry right back to him.  
  
“So,” Draco says eventually, breaking the silence. “Have you read it?”  
  
Harry nods. “Yeah, of course. Have you?”  
  
“Several times. I like to be prepared.”  
  
Harry grins, making Draco’s heart leap. “I’ll start then, shall I?”  
  
Draco nods and watches as he takes off his cloak and drapes it over the stone flags. He flicks his wand and it turns into a large red satin cushion. Knowing what he has to do, Draco mumbles a spell and the cushion turns green. Harry turns it red again. Draco turns it green.  
  
“I think that’s probably enough now,” he says uncertainly after a minute or two. The Book had been very clear on the issue of house rivalry, after all.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry says, looking intensely at him and reminding him why he came here in the first place. Tonight is the night, and he can only hope that he remembers everything he has learned—if he can do that, nothing can possibly go wrong. At all.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Draco crosses the room, loosening his tie and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. It feels strange, but he knows that he’s supposed to be dishevelled; The Book strongly advises it. He grabs Harry and they sink, kissing frantically, onto the soft fabric. Harry’s hands are once more all over him, pulling at buttons, stroking his back, pressing needily against his erection.  
  
“Can I?” Harry whispers against his mouth.  
  
“Yes,” Draco whispers back, taking advantage of Harry’s inattention to flick open his button fly and divest him of pants and trousers in one fell swoop.  
  
“Hey!” Harry protests, but he’s grinning anyway and helping Draco to kick off the rest of his clothes into a tangled pile.  
  
For a moment, they lie together in silence, eyes drifting over one another’s naked bodies for the first time. It is a first for both of them and Draco doesn’t think Harry knows what to say any more than he does. And then Harry wraps his fingers around Draco’s hard cock, head tilted to one side.  
  
“So, apparently I’m supposed to imagine this is some kind of meat lollipop,” he muses, looking up at Draco with an earnest expression and then back down at his cock. “Shall I just stick my tongue in this hole?” he suggests, gently prodding the hard flesh with the pad of his thumb.  
  
Draco simultaneously cringes and gasps as the fingers of Harry’s other hand tighten around him too. He’s right, of course, The Book advises exactly that, but hearing the words in Harry’s rough, curious voice just feels... odd.  
  
“Do you have to put it like that?” he manages.  
  
“Well, yeah.” Harry frowns and then shrugs. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.” Suddenly he brightens. “I could stick other things in there if you want?”  
  
“Like what?” Draco demands, alarmed.  
  
Harry blinks. “Haven’t you read chapter ten?”  
  
“Yes, but... NO. Anyway, stop getting ahead of yourself,” Draco reproves. “You know the proper progression—it’s kissing, then hand-jobs, then blow-jobs, then sex...”  
  
“You forgot dry-humping,” Harry says, still thoughtfully stroking Draco’s cock.  
  
Draco stares up at him from the cushion. “That is a horrible expression.”  
  
“Alright then...” Harry leans over (without letting go or missing a stroke, Draco is impressed to note) and roots through the pile of clothes for a tiny copy of The Book, which he quickly restores to its proper size. He frowns as he flicks through it. “Ah. Frottidge.”  
  
“It’s not frottidge, it’s _frottage_ ,” Draco says, trying not to show his amusement. After all, this is supposed to be serious. “Anyway, I think we covered that when we still had our clothes on.”  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and dumps the book next to Draco’s head. “Oh, shut up.”  
  
“I certainly will not.”  
  
“Seriously,” Harry sighs. “You’re distracting me. I almost forgot about comparing cocks.”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. “So did I.” He looks down and trails his fingers over Harry’s erection, pressing it with his palm so that it stands flat against his belly and then bounces when he lets go. “Very springy. And it’s the same size as mine; what are the chances?”  
  
“Yours is a bit longer,” Harry admits, and Draco remembers with a jolt that the subsection entitled ‘sharing your sword’ focuses heavily on giving and receiving compliments, or ‘cockpliments’, as they are otherwise known.  
  
“Thanks,” Draco says, pausing to search for the right words. “Yours is girthier, though, and... I rather like this vein along the side.”  
  
Harry flushes and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “You’ll like it even more later.”  
  
Draco smiles as heat sears through his stomach. He attempts to focus on the matter at hand.  
  
“I think it’s time to move on,” he says, and Harry nods seriously. Without a word, they arrange themselves on the cushion and begin the oral sex portion of proceedings, Draco wondering as they do so just how they would manage if this whole thing hadn’t been carefully choreographed for them—everything would surely be chaotic and messy and terribly awkward.   
  
As it is, he does the best that he can considering that Harry is busy attempting to inexpertly deepthroat him at the same time, licking and sucking and trying, for the first time, to ignore The Book’s unhelpful food-related penis euphemisms. It’s not a meat stick, it’s not a mushroom, and it’s certainly not a beautiful, masculine stick of celery. It is Harry Potter’s penis, and he is actually just fine with that.  
  
“Gah!” he cries in pleasure and shock, just about managing to avoid biting down when Harry moves on to teabagging without so much as a warning hand signal.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry whispers and Draco sighs, making all the little hairs on Harry’s thighs move gently back and forth.  
  
“Don’t be,” he whispers back, arching his hips as Harry takes him into his mouth again. “Still... I think we should stop.”  
  
“What? Why?” Harry is adorably indignant.  
  
“Because if you carry on with that I’m going to...”  
  
Harry picks up The Book. “Erupt like Vesuvius? Explode with the power of a Reductor Curse? Cast your Love Patronus?” he suggests.  
  
“Yes, all of those,” Draco says carefully.  
  
“Do you want to fuck?” Harry asks, looking like he’s about to be sick with nerves.  
  
“Yes,” Draco says gravely, pulling Harry up to lie beside him, each facing the other. “Don’t worry,” he says, taking The Book from Harry and setting it aside. “I’ve pretty much memorised this part.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sometimes it gets rather cold and lonely in the Slytherin dorms,” Draco admits, flushing.  
  
Harry arches an eyebrow. “Well, that’s quite...”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, I suppose we’d better decide how we’re going to do this,” Harry says rather stridently.  
  
Draco hesitates for a moment and then says, “I think you should fuck me,” immediately regretting his rashness when Harry frowns in consternation and stops stroking his inner thigh.  
  
“It clearly says in The Book that we’re supposed to argue about this,” he points out.  
  
“I think we are arguing about it right now,” Draco says, and for a moment, Harry smiles. It’s rather beautiful. Seconds later, though, the bemusement is back.  
  
“It’s part of the process, isn’t it? Everyone wants to top, so we have to sort of fight it out?”  
  
Draco shrugs. “Well, I don’t mind either way. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I can handle it better than you.”  
  
“Why do you always have to—hang on a minute,” Harry says, leaning up on his elbow. “I thought this was your first time, too?”  
  
“It is, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely inexperienced.”  
  
Harry frowns, puzzled. “What do you mean?”  
  
Draco flops onto his back and covers his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he is still painfully hard, despite this being the most ridiculous conversation he has ever had. The Book had not covered this—it had discussed masturbation at length, but had had nothing to offer on the subject of _talking about it_. And Harry’s wide-eyed obliviousness is not helping matters one bit.  
  
“Good grief,” he says at last from behind his hands. “It’s true.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Gryffindor lovers are often illogical, prone to over-enthusiasm and favour speed over technique,” Draco recites, unsure whether he’s amused or horrified.  
  
“It doesn’t say that,” Harry says, prising one hand away from his face. “It says that Slytherins are all a bunch of perverts who can’t keep their pants on.”  
  
“That,” Draco tells him, “is nothing more than a vicious rumour. Anyway, mine doesn’t say anything about Slytherins... oh.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widen. “Do you think we have different copies of The Book?”  
  
“I hope not, or this is going to get very awkward at some point,” Draco says, pulling Harry to him again and running a possessive exploratory hand over his hip.  
  
Harry’s breathing quickens. “That’s not the point, anyway—the point is... are you saying I can’t take it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Are you trying to insult my... manliness?” Harry demands.  
  
Draco stares at him, bewildered. “How?!”  
  
“By suggesting that I can’t cope with your cock up my arse! Because I can, Draco, believe me!”  
  
Draco takes in Harry’s cross expression, his words, and the fact that he somehow manages to have his hands on his hips even though he’s lying on his side, and dissolves into helpless laughter.  
  
“Your manliness is safe with me,” he promises. “And anyway, The Book—”  
  
“Screw The Book!” Harry interrupts, eyes flashing.  
  
Draco smiles. He can’t help it. “Harry, you know as well as I do that it’s far too early in the proceedings for kink.”  
  
For a moment, Harry freezes, then he leans in until his lips are brushing against Draco’s and his—very nice—cock is rubbing deliciously against Draco’s and Draco forgets exactly what they are arguing about.  
  
“Alright, Mr Letter-of-the-Law,” Harry whispers against his mouth, “I think you’ll find that you’re supposed to call me by my last name until _after_ penetration.”  
  
“You called me Draco just a minute ago,” Draco points out, and then frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Harry pulls back just enough for Draco to meet his eyes. He’s not wearing his glasses any more. Draco absently wonders where they went.  
  
“Sex with Enemies—chapter twelve.”  
  
Draco rolls away slightly, stung. “I’m your enemy?”  
  
“No,” Harry says quickly, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. “Not any more, anyway, but I thought you might want... you might be more comfortable if we... I don’t know,” he sighs, sounding defeated but never letting go of Draco’s wrist.  
  
“I don’t want to have enemy sex with you,” Draco says quietly, gazing up at the shadowy ceiling.  
  
“Okay,” Harry agrees, scrambling to kneel over Draco and pin both of his wrists to the slippery satin. “Then neither do I. And I think we’ve probably done enough arguing over what’s going where, don’t you?”  
  
“Good grief, yes,” Draco agrees. In the near-darkness Harry’s eyes burn and all at once he’s tight with need again. Without even thinking about the _procedure_ , he reaches out and encloses their cocks in one hand, stroking them together and relishing Harry’s closed eyes and soft groans.  
  
“Just one thing,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open. “What exactly did you mean when you said you weren’t completely inexperienced?”  
  
Draco’s hand stills for a moment. “Did we even read the same Book?”  
  
“Well, there’s no way of being certain,” Harry says nervously.  
  
“Chapter four, Harry. Chapter four,” Draco says, closing his eyes and allowing his belly to flood with sharp pleasure as he resumes his stroking.  
  
Harry laughs. “You’re talking about wanking? With... stuff?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Harry asks, gently pulling away from Draco to sit between his legs, leaving him feeling bereft and sorely tempted to yank Harry close again. This is, of course, the way of things, and they are never going to get to the end of the process if they keep lingering, but still...  
  
“What?” he asks distractedly, opening his eyes. Harry is staring down at his own fingers.  
  
He looks up with a wry smile. “Sometimes I think you talk in riddles just so people will think you’re mysterious.”  
  
“I do nothing of the sort.”  
  
“If you say so.” Harry reaches for his wand and peers between Draco’s legs. “I’ve practised this a few times but I’m just wondering... do you think it would be easier if I just aim it straight up—”  
  
“NO.”  
  
“But don’t you think—?”  
  
“ _NO_.”  
  
Harry shrugs. “Okay.”  
  
Relieved, Draco watches carefully as he casts ‘ _Lubrico_ ’ into his palm and muses that there really is something slightly disturbing about _that_ coming out of the end of a wand. Then again, he doubts it’s up to him to question it, so he lies back and gamely takes part in a rather protracted discussion about preparation, during which the word ‘scissoring’ is bandied about far more than seems decorous. By the time Harry actually touches him, he has almost lost interest, but the slick pressure of Harry’s fingers—one at a time, slowly, because that’s the way to do it—soon has his blood racing and his skin tingling again.  
  
He’s hot, hard, alive with it, breath coming quickly as Harry stretches him open, leaning over him with such a look of careful concentration that Draco wants to cry out and tell him to get on with it, to hurry, that he won’t shatter into pieces if things get a little rough.  
  
“I don’t know if I... are you ready?” Harry asks, eyes huge and skin flushed. “I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do... fuck.”  
  
“Yeah,” Draco laughs, reaching out and grasping his hips. “Fuck.”  
  
And Harry does, pushing inside a little at a time and looking so worried that Draco almost can’t stand it. He pulls him in deeper, encouraging him, trying to remember the advice he has spent so long committing to memory as his body sparks with pain and pleasure and frustration.  
  
“Am I hurting you?” Harry gasps, sliding so slowly into Draco that he wants to shake him, just in the hope that it will break his control. He hadn’t expected it to be like this. He hadn’t expected to want the chaos, and he certainly hadn’t expected to want to throw the rules out of the window.  
  
“No,” Draco insists, wrapping his legs around Harry and trying... trying... oh, fucking _god_. “That said, you haven’t touched my nipples, and The Book says...”  
  
Harry stills, looking stricken, and Draco has no idea why he said that. At all. Except that maybe he wants the other Harry back—the one who laughs and sparkles and argues with him for no good reason. He knows that Harry is being serious because this part is supposed to be serious, but he just wants to reach up and kiss the playfulness back into Harry, even though he knows that is not what is required of him at this point. Baffled and irritated with himself, he digs his nails into Harry’s arse and shakes his head. “I’m kidding. Don’t stop.”  
  
Glaring at him rather ineffectually, Harry drops his head, leans into Draco and picks up the pace. It’s still a little too careful and a little too controlled, but it’s better, and soon Harry is moaning softly and coming inside Draco in long, shuddering strokes.  
  
For a moment, he doesn’t move, supporting himself on his hands, one at either side of Draco’s shoulders, and Draco barely breathes. When Harry shifts and pulls himself upright, leaving Draco empty, he hisses, feeling his cock twitch, heavy and neglected against his stomach.  
  
Harry rubs his face with both hands and Draco stares at him. He’s still hard, shiny from the lubrication spell and sticky with his own release. _Comepliments_ , Draco thinks vaguely, wondering if it’s really necessary to congratulate Harry on his orgasm. If he’s honest, he’s just relieved that Harry hasn’t spurted out buckets of the stuff; The Book had intimated that this was normal, and Draco had been convinced that his own offering was in some way inadequate. Perhaps Harry is inadequate, too, and if he is then it doesn’t matter anyway.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he asks, suddenly noticing Harry’s dark expression.  
  
“Well, I’m pretty sure I really messed that up, and since you’re not saying anything, I’m pretty sure you think I did, too,” Harry says, pulling his knees up to his chest and folding his arms on top.  
  
Draco stares at him. Harry looks so sad and vulnerable sitting on the cold stone floor with his hair everywhere and his mouth set in a hard line and Draco is not nearly done with him, but there is nothing in The Sodding Book that comes even close to dealing with this, and he’s had enough. Without a word, he scrambles to his feet and pulls Harry up, ignoring his protests. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right, and that means listening to nothing but his own instincts.  
  
With a smile tugging at his lips, he circles around behind Harry, kissing his neck slowly, nipping at the sensitive skin and making him shiver.  
  
“What are you...?” Harry asks as Draco drops to his knees, but his words trail away because Draco is gripping his arse firmly, pulling him tight and licking a hot, broad stripe across his opening. “Draco,” he whispers hoarsely, and then laughs, seeming to understand at last. “What chapter is this, then?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco mumbles, breathing hotly against the slick, quivering skin. “I think I’m improvising.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry manages, and the sound quickly turns into a rough groan as Draco succumbs to the intoxicating mixture of cold tiles, hot skin and leaping without a net, darting his tongue inside Harry, feeling his knees shake, and doing it again, and again, and again. Exhilarated, he presses his mouth against Harry’s skin as he spells cool, slippery liquid into his hand and pushes his fingers inside, hurriedly, greedily, heart pounding as the tight channel clenches around him and he strokes Harry open, searching out the angle that... _yes_ , will make Harry swear and hiss and arch his back.  
  
When Harry’s legs wobble dangerously, Draco gets to his feet and propels Harry towards the nearest desk, surprised when he draws his legs up and stares at Draco, eyes burning and erection fully restored. He is even more surprised when Harry grabs him around the back of the neck and kisses him hard, breathing hotly into Draco’s mouth, brushing tongues and tasting himself. It’s ridiculously erotic, completely terrifying and absolutely fucking brilliant. Draco grins as he kisses him back, pulling him to the edge of the desk and biting down on his bottom lip as he slides inside with one long, hard stroke that makes them both gasp.  
  
“Sorry,” Draco murmurs, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue and realising he has bitten too hard.  
  
“S’okay,” Harry whispers, breathing hard and pushing back against him. “Please.”  
  
Draco nods, a breathless smile tugging at his mouth. He had never imagined Harry asking for this, but now he has heard it, he thinks he will hear it every time he wakes and every time he tries to sleep.  
  
“Please,” he whispers back, kissing Harry again, and then starts to move, following the powerful, rapid rhythm of his own heartbeat and accelerating along with it, using Harry’s whimpers and mumbled words to guide him: faster, deeper, Draco, _yes_.   
  
His hips bang painfully against the edge of the desk as he moves, and once or twice he feels Harry sliding away from him along the gentle incline of the surface, but each time he laughs and grabs him and Harry laughs, too, and they’re soon back in position, arching and tensing and rocking together, Harry’s dark fringe plastered to his forehead and Draco’s eyes stinging painfully, and nothing matters but this. Not The Book, not the imperfect surroundings of the dusty old classroom, and not the fact that both of their hands are wrapped around Harry’s cock now, Harry using his free hand to grip the edge of the table and Draco using his to anchor himself to Harry; it’s all about this release now, and despite everything that has come before, Draco wants to wait until Harry loses himself before he’ll give in. He wants to, but it’s all too much, and Harry is too much, and he tries, but he’s lost, and he stares helplessly at Harry as he comes, mortified by the noises he makes and too far gone to care.  
  
With the last of his strength, he pushes, his hand wrapped around Harry’s, urging Harry to come for the second time. His arms ache and he feels slightly faint, but he has to have it, he has to see it, and when Harry tips back his head and comes all over their tangled fingers, he allows himself to slither to the floor. Smiling, eyes closed, humming with residual pleasure, he flops onto his back. The floor is deliciously cold and the whole room smells like sex and chalk dust.  
  
There’s a creak and a wince of pain as Harry lowers himself to the floor beside him and stretches out with his arms above his head.  
  
“That was not in The Book,” he says, sounding amused.  
  
Draco turns his head and grins at him. “No, it wasn’t. Do you think we should go back to it?”  
  
Harry wrinkles his nose. “I think improvisation is the way forward. That is, if you’re prepared to put up with this... what was it? Illogical, overenthusiastic lover?”  
  
Draco laughs and rolls over to press a kiss to Harry’s slightly swollen lip. “I’d say you have just the right level of enthusiasm for this perverted Slytherin,” he admits.  
  
“I’m not sure you’re perverted at all. You know what? I don’t think this Book knows anything about us,” Harry says, sitting up and retrieving The Book with a thoughtful expression.  
  
Draco looks down at its shiny cover and thinks about the hours he has spent learning its advice and suggestions and bloody fucking procedures. Smiling slowly, he takes it from Harry and gets to his feet. Intrigued, Harry follows him over to the window and watches him open it, delighted disbelief clear on his face. Draco meets his eyes as the rush of cold air swirls around them and rakes over their bare skin. With a shrug, he takes Harry’s hand and then flings The Book out of the window.  
  
“I actually liked the green better,” Harry admits, glancing back at the satin cushion as they hear the satisfying _thunk_ of The Book finding a new resting place.  
  
“The red is good, too,” Draco concedes, and when Harry turns back to the window, he picks up his wand from the floor and changes the cushion cover again.  
  
Harry laughs when he sees the vivid rainbow stripes. “Congratulations, Draco. It’s the gayest cushion I have ever seen.”  
  
Draco inclines his head graciously and heads over to the cushion to flop back down when the sound of rapid footsteps brings them both hurrying back to the window. It’s too dark to make out the figure, but the sound of laughter and pages being flipped over is enough to tell them that whoever is out there is amused to have found The Book.  
  
“Wow, I haven’t seen one of these for years,” someone says, and at Draco’s side, Harry tenses. “Look, Sev, do you remember this?”  
  
It’s Draco’s turn to tense, and slowly, he and Harry turn to stare at each other in mute horror.  
  
“I have tried to forget,” says someone else, and it is, indeed, the unmistakeable voice of Severus Snape. “Remus, put that down. You have no idea where it’s been.”  
  
Harry sighs and Draco puts an arm around his shoulders in empathy. There are no words that can help with this; they just have to hope they can live with the mental images.  
  
“I know exactly where it’s been—someone’s written their name in it,” Lupin says helpfully.  
  
Draco turns to Harry. “You didn’t write your name in it?” he asks wearily.  
  
“I always write my name in my books,” Harry says, expression caught somewhere between defiance and the desire to throw himself out of the window before this can go any further.  
  
“Well?” Sev demands. “Whose is it?”  
  
Harry holds his breath.  
  
“Never you mind.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is louder and more deliberate. “I think I’ll just leave it here behind this bush. Maybe then whoever lost it can find it again.”  
  
Harry sags with relief and Draco can’t decide if he is pleased or disappointed. He thinks he rather enjoys Harry when he’s embarrassed.  
  
“Come on, let’s—”  
  
“No, Severus, leave it alone!” Lupin cries, and there is a loud rustle from the bushes. “If you don’t stop it we won’t be doing any of the things you want to do in Greenhouse Three.”  
  
“Oh, you are terribly cruel,” Sev sighs, but the rustling ceases and they begin to walk away.   
  
_Probably in the direction of Greenhouse Three_ , Draco thinks, wondering how he will ever be able to face Herbology again. Not to mention Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions. If he ends up failing his NEWTs, he will know exactly who to blame: the buggers who wrote that fucking book.   
  
When he turns back to Harry, he is half-dressed and is in the process of buttoning up his shirt. Disappointed, Draco folds his arms and tries to pretend he is not standing naked in the middle of an empty classroom.  
  
“Are you leaving?”  
  
Harry grimaces. “Yeah. Nothing personal, I just don’t think I’m in the mood any more after... that.”  
  
Draco is relieved. “I’d be more worried if you were,” he says, and Harry smiles.  
  
“Absolutely. Anyway, I’d better go and retrieve my book before Snape finds it. Before anyone finds it, actually,” Harry says anxiously.   
  
“And then what?” Draco demands, feeling vulnerable and attempting to cover it by sounding as cold as he can possibly manage.  
  
Harry shoots him an odd little smile and he doesn’t think he has managed it very well at all.  
  
“And then...” Harry crosses the distance between them and pulls Draco into a hug. Draco protests for a second or two and then relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around Harry and breathing him in. “Let’s meet tomorrow night. Somewhere... nicer,” Harry says against his neck.  
  
Draco’s heart speeds. “Without The Book?”  
  
“Without The Book,” Harry promises. “I think I’m going to keep mine on my bookshelf for posterity. Or as a reminder to think for myself. But that’s all.”  
  
Draco smiles against Harry’s shirt fabric. “I think I might take mine home and leave it in my father’s office, just to see what kind of noises he makes.”  
  
Harry laughs and pulls away reluctantly. He bends to pick up the multicoloured cushion, turning it back into his cloak and swirling it around his shoulders. He has decided to leave the rainbow stripes in place, and Draco thinks it’s rather a good look on him.  
  
They gaze at each other in silence for a moment or two. Draco remembers that The Book had advised that it was customary for things to be awkward after the first time with someone, and that from now on, The Book was to go and fuck itself, so he kisses Harry, fingers threaded into his hair; he kisses him until he is breathless and flushed, and then he grins at him and ushers him out into the corridor.  
  
“Watch out for Snape and Lupin... doing... things,” he advises, grinning at Harry and knowing without a doubt that tomorrow will be even better. It will be imperfectly perfect, and it will be marvellous.  
  
He shuts the door behind Harry and redresses, separating his tangle of clothes into separate, if creased, garments and pulling them on. He makes his way out into the corridor, yawning and heading for the Slytherin dorms. First he needs to sleep, and then he needs to have a serious talk with Blaise about his Book. And Anthony Goldstein, too. Draco stops suddenly, halfway across his darkened common room. There must be others. He has to find them and tell them the truth.  
  
Finally reaching his bed, he flops onto his back and gazes up at his canopy, smiling wearily. There’s going to be a gay revolution. Draco thinks it’s going to be colourful.


End file.
